The Mirror Crack'd
by PippinStrange
Summary: Adventure and tragedy await Merlin when young Elaine, the Lady of Shalott, is found nearly dead in a boat set adrift. Nimueh, the sorceress, took her for her own and entrapped her in a tower, with dire consequences to all of Camelot. Lanc/OC, Season4.
1. Weaveth Steadily

**Dear Reader,**

**The basis for this tale is The Lady of Shalott by Alfred Lord Tennyson, and the fairy tale Rapunzel by the Brothers Grimm. I wondered how Tennyson's Lady ended up trapped in the tower—and the story by the Grimm's came to mind. Perhaps an old witch took her at her birth, and out of selfishness, kept her locked away. What if this witch was Nimueh? And what if the Lady lived? This will eventually be a Lancelot pairing, set after the third season. Lancelot is now a knight of Camelot, settled into a rather numb-feeling about Gwen. The Lady escapes from her tower and arrives in Camelot. This will be more of an adventure than a romance, and honestly—more about Merlin than the Lady, but it will all come together. =) **

**Thanks for reading!**

**Pippin**

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><p><strong>Chapter One, Weaveth Steadily<strong>

It was one of those mornings when one could almost hear the dew on the grass dribbling down the stalks. The world was quiet, but the sounds of morning were raucous. Birds singing, a breezing shuddering through branches, and somewhere the river cackled and gurgled. A vague memory of a bridge, a small bridge that went over the river… my little feet going across, knowing not what was in store…But no matter. Now, it is too late.

I could not see these things closely, or touch them, or smell them, or hold them close and feel its coolness. I gazed ahead and saw their likeness in my mirror, a distorted, bent thing. The reflection was foggy and granted me very little view to the outside word.

With a sigh, I shifted and looked towards the window at the far end of the room. Mother had placed a screen over it to thwart my temptation, but still sunlight poured in from behind it. The window wanted me to approach; it begged me to seek the outdoors. I always had to shake my head and whisper _no._

I looked back to the mirror, with the dim shape of treetops, blue sky, and a bit of mountain peak. That was all. It was never enough. I knew that if the mirror could project its image lower, or somehow reflect what was _really _there, I could see the city.

The city nestled at the end of the river, the city at the base of the mountain. The city that echoed with swordplay and alarum bells. I heard the cry of travelers on the road as they beheld it for the first time.

"Camelot," they'd always shout, with awe and gratitude. I could not see them, only hear their voices. And the tone was always the same—wonder, beauty, safety.

I longed to see this place that they called Camelot. I knew, somehow, that one day I would. But I had not the courage for suicide.

"Why suicide?" one might ask, had I any audience to bore with my sad tale.

To look upon Camelot, one would surely die. I was a cursed being, cursed to never know the city nor the sky or anything beneath it. To grant my desire was to fall upon a sword.

Long ago, my parents were with child, and my father was too poor to care for my mother in her pregnancy. He climbed over a wall and stole green vegetables from a garden. This garden belonged to a woman named Nimueh.

Nimueh caught my father and threatened him—and my mother—with death, until finally he agreed that she could have the child and raise it as her own. Nimueh promised my father that—because she had riches—that she would adopt me and be a better provider that they could ever hope to be. My father and mother saw wisdom in giving me away, because they knew I might starve if I lived with them. For love of their own lives, and a twisted sort of love of mine, they agreed.

It was soon clear that Nimueh was more than just a selfish woman who loved her new possession (me). She was also a sorceress. She taught me—or tried to teach me—magic, but I never really got the hand of it. I knew nothing of spells and did not pick up on the language of Avalon, the Druids, or Latin. Though I could say very little, I had some supernatural abilities that developed over time. My voice had a strange enchantment power—the first time I sang a ballad, at the age of six, it forced Nimueh into a sound sleep for hours and hours. I feared I killed her, till she woke up and congratulated me on the voice of magic. She since then taught me to use it, different songs could cause love, sleep, death. If I sang a song in my heart, and called to something—holding the notes long, in my mind—an object may fly across the room into my outstretched hand. These two small gifts, movement and voice, were the gifts that she nurtured and helped me control.

Anything of magic came easily for Mother, because she was creature of magic. I was simply her pupil and property. Nimueh is the only mother I've ever known, and so I loved her, a little. She kept me in her house, a grand house that seemed to appear and disappear at will. I was allowed to play in the Garden, (the same Garden from which my father stole) but I never ventured past the wall. My feelings fought imprisonment, but Nimueh always cautioned me that the world was full of evil. She said every other human in existence was corrupt, and they wanted to kill the innocents.

One night, Nimueh was away for the evening. When she returned, she was covered in blood, and bade me to pack my things. The blood was not her own, but she refused to say whose it was. She told me—for the first time—we'd be leaving our home. I was terrified, but my heart leapt with joy at the thought of being in the world—the real world. Nimueh and I took refuge in an enchanted tower called _Shalott_—one mostly invisible to the naked eye, unless one was looking for it. She betrayed me, I know that now. At first I was merely disappointed, but as time drew on, I knew that there was something wrong.

It was very dark and frightening inside the tower. I had hoped we'd be fleeing for our lives through the forest, and go into the mountains—settling in a field, perhaps, with a stream and a cave for company. But it was not to be. We lived in that tower, living a quiet life of solitude. The interior was square (luckily for me—I may have gone crazy with a circular room, like bottle!) with four small turrets coming from the corners (I had no access to them).

She taught me to weave, and sometimes she ventured out into the dangerous world to bring me things to make the tower more like home. She told me the true story of my birth, and reminded me that she loved me more than my parents ever could. I was sorry for them, and pitied them, but did not miss them. If they loved me so much, they would have kept me. I was better off with the witch.

Another truth came to light—why Nimueh kept me hidden in her grand house. The world isn't just evil, she explained, but that my magic put me in danger. Twenty years ago, the King of Camelot—Uther Pendragon—ordered that sorcery be made illegal. Nimueh told me the truth, explaining that she had given the King some assistance in the birth of his son, Arthur. But when the balance of Life claimed his mother—Igraine—Uther flew into a rage and outlawed magic and sentenced anyone who used it to death. On that fateful night, Pendragon armies swarmed the city and countryside, putting to death all known magicians.

I was less apt to argue with her on this account, for I would rather have my magic than be attacked by strangers (or so I thought at the time).

A few years went by—and one night, she was acting strange. I was—I think—about ten years old. Nimueh went to the window and whispered one of her spells, waving her hand over it. Then she turned, saying to me, "My precious child, you are too valuable for me to let anything harm you. You know I love you, don't you?"

"Yes," I replied, looking at the cold stones and spinning wheel in the corner, where we spent many hours—happy, yes, but discontent—creating beautiful pictures from never-ending thread. We hung our tapestries upon the old walls, making the room colorful and magical-looking enough.

"You know I've just placed a curse on this window, don't you?" Nimueh pressed, her eyes wide and her lips pursed.

"Yes, it was a curse of great power, I felt it," I said eagerly. "It will kill anyone attempting to look in, won't it? It will protect us?"

"Wrong," Nimueh said, looking at the spinning wheel with a sigh. "It will kill anyone looking _out."_

At first, I laughed. "But Mama! Won't that be dangerous?"

Nimueh looked at me steadily. "Look out the window, and you die."

There was a long silence, and it almost felt as if my heart tumbled upward into my throat, and threatened to strangle me there.

"But Mama," I repeated, "It wouldn't kill ME, would it?"

"It would," she replied without emotion.

"Wh-why?" I said, beginning to cry.

"Because you must NEVER leave this tower, no matter what," Nimueh stood over me, looking nothing like the person who raised me. She now looked darker, more honest, as if this is the person who had hidden from me underneath her playful spells and scarlet dress. "It's for your own good. Mother must leave—there are things happening in Camelot—terrible things—I must join the war, so I must guarantee your safety. Do you understand?"

I continued to cry, but I nodded. _I… I must have been mistaken, she does love me, and she is just taking her protectiveness to the extreme._

"But, but Mama," I said, still sniveling, "How will I see the… the sky? I just… I want to play… in the grass, Mama… Why can't I have a garden like at home?"

"This is home now," Nimueh said coldly. Then she softened. "My darling… I am so sorry. I'm afraid…" she held out her hands like a crucifix. "This is all I can give you." With a cry in a foreign tongue, a mirror appeared in a shower of golden rays. The mirror, bowed and old, stood on a stand next to the spinning wheel. In it's reflection was a blurry resemblance of the same night sky that was outside the window.

I went to the mirror and looked at it. "It is blurry," I said sadly.

"Magic is never perfect," Nimueh snapped angrily. "You are horribly ungrateful!"

"Thank-you, Mama," I said, running my hand down the cold surface, catching a glimpse the stars behind a cloud. They disappeared as quickly as they had come.

Nimueh did not answer. She was fitting a screen to the window, a brown clothe screen, which would allow the sunlight to come through—I hoped—and finished with a few more spoken words of Latin.

"It is time for me to go," she said.

"What will I do?" I cried harder. "Who… who will feed me? And read to me?"

"You can read to yourself if you want," Nimueh said unsympathetically, gesturing to the pile of books that we had already read several times over. "I've spoken an enchantment over the room—and hate me if you want, dear—but I don't want you to starve."

"What is the enchantment?" I said fearfully. "Is it worse than the window?"

"You shall never need to eat," Nimueh scoffed. "Honestly, my sweet, have you no faith in me at all? I've cursed the _window, _not you. And the spell will never let you feel hunger or need food. You will never need food at long as you are in the tower."

"Out of the tower?"

"You mustn't worry about that," she replied hastily. "Outside the tower you would surely starve. Could you feed yourself in the WILDERNESS? Faugh." She snatched me up, embraced me tightly, and kissed the top of my head. "Now play with the wheel. Mama wants to see a new tapestry when I return."

Suddenly a few of the rocks melted away like tears, and she vanished into the wall. The rocks returned to normal, and I fell upon a half-finished tapestry, and sobbed. It was at this time when I first felt the betrayal I mentioned earlier—I knew there was something wrong with out relationship then. A real, loving mother would not imprison me with no sunlight and no food. But I knew no one else—who could I turn to?

Twenty-two long years have gone by since my birth, twenty years since the Great Purge began. Nimueh never returned to the tower again—the night she cursed my only window to the outside world and cursed me to live a slender, staved creature—was the last night I ever saw her. She never came back to me—her daughter—her ward and student.

I am a young woman now. I do not know what I look like, the mirror gives me nothing but shadows of the window's view, not of myself. The twelve years that have passed since her betrayal have been utterly long, endless, colorful torture of weaving great pictures for the walls, and making new blankets and clothes for myself.

I am truly alone.

Every day I sit at the spinning wheel, weaving, and singing softly. Why do not look out the window, and die? End my loathsome, torturous boredom?

_Oh sun, wind, and sky. Birds and water. Grass beneath my feet. A dance in the moonlight. Falling in love with a man… one day feeling what it is like to be kissed and held. _

I do not want to die without having enjoyed these things first. I want to walk in the grasses and smell the summer wind—oh, I must, I MUST—await Mother to return and set me free. When I suffer the most, I close my eyes and try to remember the Garden I was allowed to play in as a very small child. Anything would be better than this.

Every day I weave, and sing, and hope she comes back for me to release me.

I await for the Witch to return to me,

She will hear my voice and answer my plea,

My heart, my lungs, weave endlessly,

Born without eyes and forced to see.

I sing songs of the sun and sky.

I do not speak but I question why.

The mountains beckon; the window cries,

And if I answer I will surely die.

O Magic Mirror, Cursed be,

Hear my tongue and set me free.

Feel my hand, my soul distraught,

Let me—let me—

Look down on Camelot.

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><p><strong>Please tell me what you think! I look forward to your reviews! (seriously though, reviews are like food. My stories slowly starve and die without feedback—guilt trip much?) =) What do you think about the poem at the end? It's written in the same rhyme scheme at Tennyson's but it's (obviously) not trying to sound just like the original poem. <strong>


	2. In Sunlight Glow'd

**Dear Readers,**

**Thank-you for adding me to your faves and alerts! I will urge you to leave me a review though =) any thoughts or critiques you might have are completely welcome, and quite honestly needed! The feedback is what really fuels my writing. **

**Have a blessed day!**

**Pip**

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><p><strong>Chapter Two, In Sunlight Glow'd<strong>

In the dreariness of nightfall, I sat at the loom, taking what I had woven at the spinning wheel and crafting it into one of my fine webs that graced the walls. You'd be surprised, no doubt, at the artistry which I possessed for having never seen much for myself.

If I were lucky enough, the mirror would waver and darken, into shapes of people or animals, or the road to Camelot. These occasions were very rare and I _lived _for their appearances, but still my greatest desire was to see the city and that would—I know—never happen.

This latest woven image, a figure of a man upon a horse, was just beginning to take shape when I heard a quiet giggle. At first I thought I imagined it—but there it was again, soft, feminine, and flirtatious.

Startled, I ran to the mirror and stood before it, hands clasped and waiting with disquieted breaths. The mirror's round shape bore the dark stain of night sky, and a shimmering shape of the crescent moon. Along the bottom, two shapes were clasping hands, and running through the blackness. One was bigger than the other, and took the smaller in his arms, and seemed to give it a kiss. The smaller giggled affectionately, and they smuggled themselves off into the night.

"I'm half sick of shadows!" I screamed, pressing my hands against the glass of the mirror. "Can you hear me? Give me something! Something else! Something that does not increase my loneliness! Why torture me with dumb lovers running away from home? Kill me not with a curse, but kill me with a broken heart, that's just FINE!" Slamming a palm against the glass, I gave a growl of anguish and marched back to my loom, trying to shake the anger I felt. _The Great Purge hasn't ended, _I convinced myself. _My magic is not safe. I'm protected here. I must trust Mother to come home for me. Then, we will go out, and I will find someone and happily marry._

Into my web I wove the shape of the young lovers, creeping along before the man on the horse. Many other colors went in—dark scarlet and shades of black. The color of my fear and my anger at their unfair appearance seemed to seep into every thread.

Many of my images—hung in order by which they were made along the wall—seemed to grow less and less colorful and cheerful, and more like the emblems of isolation and black magic. I could work my eyes through from the first to the last tapestry, and see my descent from a naïve child to an unhappy, depressed creature of loneliness.

I note this moment because it was perhaps when something died inside of me. The spirit to live on and wait for Mother was quenched that night, though I told myself it wasn't. Without the hope leading me, I felt _hopeless, _and much more apt to do something stupid. And yet—oh stupidity, how often you are masked in taking our futures in our own hands! I was not to be a damsel in distress… I just did not know that my hope lies in doing things for myself, rather than waiting in the tower for the rest of my life.

The next morning, after a restless sleep in my cot, I did not feel any more cheerful. Sunlight etched in the edges of the screen, coaxing me awake, and usually I find comfort in having survived one more night, and look forward to listening to the birds as I weave.

But I found no satisfaction in the light today, which was strange for me.

To try and rid myself of my ill mood, I sat at the loom, and sang softly.

_The flowers will come and winds will go_

_And by the morning sunlight's glow_

_I will weave my web and deftly sew_

_Until the cursed day has drifted low._

Some voices came from my mirror, voices of passer-by fisherman—but I was granted no picture. I knew they were fishermen for the clatter of oars and the dipping of the keel in the gushing river surface. (Over my years, I'd grown very perceptive of sound.)

The voices were muddled and carefree, and one of them cried clearly, "Hear that? That's the ghost of Shalott, that is! Hear it sing?"

"Aye!" said the other. "Fancy that."

"Eh," said the first, "It'll probably stop the second that patrol gets here."

"What patrol?"

"The regent be makin' patrol's today, and we both know that ghosts will assail the ears of the isolated! As soon as there's a crowd—PFFT! No mor' ghosty! That's why so few see 'em and so few believe 'em."

"Blimey! I didn't know that! That's a pity, for sure!"

"An' you know why the regent is makin' patrols?"

"No, why? Why ain't the prince doing it?"

"The prince IS the regent, ya knucklehead! Uther went right-well crazy when is bastard child tried to take over the throne a few months ago. Where were YOU?"

"Farmin and fishin, like I always am!"

"Well pay attention to news sometime, man! You might miss an usurpin'!"

The boat docked with a clatter, and the voices left the wooden sound, and entered into the greenery that I imagined surrounded my tower, and disappeared down river.

Thank the gods for the small entertainment I received from conversations such as these. I'd heard these two before, and welcomed their news—what little they knew.

But their voices were gone, and all was silent again. Singing in an octave that guaranteed someone would stop and listen—but not powerful enough to make anyone fall in love with me or kill themselves or some other such nonsense—I invented most of the lyrics as I sang them, at the time, with hardly any thought.

_Dark is the mirror, and dark indeed_

_Are my thoughts of a planted seed_

_Grown heavy past my usual creed_

_I no longer think of what I need._

_But rather what I want instead,_

_Another day is what I dread_

_Entrapped to only hear their tread_

_And if I look out I must be dead._

_To live this way I have been taught_

_To leave the tower I have not sought_

_I must end my dreams of Camelot—_

"LANCELOT!"

I stopped singing, gripped a handful of thread to my heart, and listened carefully.

"_LANCELOT!" _said the voice again.

I rushed to my mirror and looked, holding my breath with excitement. This voice was _so close. _So eerily close—the mirror must grant me some vision this time!

The color waved and the glass seemed to shiver, and suddenly there appeared a road. I knew just around that bend—would be the city of Camelot—but as usual, the mirror would never show such a thing. On the road were a group of knights, dressed in armor and red livery with shapes of dragons on them. I could not tell if any of them were particularly handsome or not, for the mirror was blurry, like a half-forgotten dream.

"Where did he go?" said the figure in the lead.

"Em…" said a figure in blue riding alongside him, "Oh—he's down there, at the riverbank."

"Lance-LOT," said the lead in an annoyed tone. "Do you listen to nothing?"

"He said he heard something," said the other. "He was just goin' to check it out."

"Why didn't you say that before?"

"I forgot."

"Honestly, Merlin, if you retain any information—EVER—it'd be a wonder."

"Yes, well, it IS a patrol."

"Come again?"

"Sire, Lancelot is PATROLLING. Isn't that what he's supposed to do?"

"Shut up, Merlin."

"Shutting up."

I chuckled and pulled my chair close to the mirror, folding my hands and listening eagerly. I smiled ecstatically when the lead figure—whom I guessed to be the regent, Prince of Camelot—held up his hand and said, "Halt! We'll wait for Lancelot."

"Oh, hurrah," I whispered. It was like having company over.

Some of the knights dismounted, and the mirror blurred.

"Oh, no no no no," I gasped, but my panic was unwarranted, for the mirror cleared up again—for some strange reason—clearer than it ever has been before.

"What strange blessing this is," I mused, observing the knights. The silly one in blue, obviously the servant, hopped from his horse and went walking jovially down the road.

"Where are you going, Merlin?" asked the Prince.

"I just want to see what Lancelot is doing."

"Oh, let him have his fun—he obviously thinks he's found something worth spending all this time over."

Merlin gave an exaggerated sigh and came trumping back, folding his arms and standing by the Prince's horse. "Anything else, Sire?" he asked sarcastically.

"Yes. Stop smiling."

Merlin fought his smile, but nothing worked.

The Prince sighed with mock annoyance, and finally hopped from his horse as well, and stood next to the servant in a friendly kind of way.

"So…" Merlin asked in the cheerful sound of horses champing their bits and the knights laughing amongst each other. "How is your father? You said you spoke with him for awhile this morning."

The Prince shrugged, becoming very serious. "I don't know. We talked about nothing, really. Nothing at all."

_My guests, my visions, my friends,_

_Never leave my mirror's trends,_

_I could watch you all till the very end,_

_And then gladly go to death instead…_

I hadn't even realized I was singing until the Prince and Merlin suddenly looked about wildly. All the knights froze and listened, and that is when I stopped, suddenly embarrassed. I sing to express myself, but I had never sung out loud with the intention of being heard. If this ever happened again—I wondered—if I could carry on a conversation with them? What if we spoke like acquaintances?

"What the BLAZES was that?" the Prince cried loudly.

"I… I don't know!" Merlin replied in confusion, his gaze focused off to the left.

Another knight cried with laughter, "O, for the love of all things unmagical, I do hope it's not the Witch back for revenge."

"Her name was Morgana, Sir Gawaine," said the Prince, in a dark tone.

"It's not Morgana," said another, with curly light hair, who looked to be a degree older than the others. "She… she never really sang."

"It's obviously a passing dairy maid, somewhere," shrugged the regent, unwilling that it could be anything of the supernatural. "Let's not talk about Morgana."

The mood was dampened, but they all continued to look cautious. Merlin the servant, especially, seemed focused on the river. If he looked left in such a way, and could see my tower across the river—surely they'd all come and say hello. But it was not to be. My tower was like trying to catch a sunray, visible if one knew what to look for. But one would have to walk straight into the wall in order to know it was there.

The mirror went fuzzy, and I could barely see a shadow climbing out of the bushes from the riverbank, and stepping lightly onto the road.

And when it cleared again, I thought my heart had suddenly failed me.

This must be the elusive Lancelot, with dark brown eyes and unruly hair. He seemed a little wilder, and a little quieter than the others. As soon as he appeared, everyone began to question him at once, asking him what had happened.

"I heard something," he said quietly, "It sounded like… singing, actually."

"I thought maybe it was you," said the long-haired jokester, the one they called Gawaine. "You do have an enchanting voice."

"Right, because I sing all the time," Lancelot replied dryly, "Tirra-lirra."

"That's not singing," Merlin said with a straight face.

"Oh, isn't it?" Lancelot asked.

"Alright, alright," the Prince waved a hand. "Now, either we get ON with it, or we hear what else. Lancelot, did you see anything? Anything of interest?"

"You may think I'm just being spooked, by the old ghost stories," Lancelot shrugged. "But—I could have sworn—I saw some sort of… building. But I looked and looked, and I must be wrong."

With that last statement, he turned away from the company—

And horror of horrors—

He looked right _at me._

His eyes bore holes right through the mirror and into me. How did he—what did he see? Could he see me?

I gasped audibly, as if someone had put a knife in my heart. We stared at each other—it may sound silly to say—and I put my hands on the glass, whispering,

"Don't leave. Please."

"Did you hear that?" Lancelot asked, breaking eye contact. I might as well have sobbed right there with disappointment.

"HEAR WHAT?" the Prince demanded crankily.

"A voice!" Lancelot insisted.

"A… voice?" the Prince said doubtfully.

"I heard it too!" Merlin cried. "Plain as day! It said 'don't leave!'"

"That's what I heard!" Lancelot added.

"Yes, the ghost stories ARE getting to you," the Prince laughed. "Let's get out of here. There is nothing else to do, we've made our full round. Could've been a fisherman or something. MOUNT UP!"

With that, the group clambered aboard their fine horses, and with tails swishing, they began to disappear down the road. Lancelot was silent, and Merlin launched into a loud prattle of reasons why they should turn around and investigate my voice.

"No, no, no, NO!" I screamed, my stomach twisting. There was something different about this—the mirror had never been fully clear before, as if I were seeing everything like I was there. This must be a sign of something changing—perhaps—maybe—

Oh, and his eyes. It wasn't an attractiveness that drew me—there was something different. As if a voice was whispering _Destiny. _

I knew—there could be any number of people to meet outside of my tower. Perhaps an adorable, burly, chubby farmer would be my husband, and we'd have nine children and eight cows. Perhaps if I waited for Mother to return and set me free…

But, there was something about Lancelot—I knew I must meet him first. Our future bore the same thread, winding the same way, straight across the same plain. I had to know him. I had to meet him. No gaze had ever pierced me before, and now I knew, that was all I needed. This was the spark to unleash a pent-up fury. I would escape.

And I would escape _today. _

I stood up, and walked around the room, three times. My fists were clenched, my breathing haggard. I knew what I must do, but my whole heart shuddered at the thought—because it meant death, my induced end. Would it hurt? Would my chest tighten? Or would I simply fall asleep in blissful dizziness?

"Mother, this is your last chance," I said out loud. "Save me!"

A bitter wind lilted over the river, and howled through the chinks around the window. The wail matched the sob in my throat.

"To my death, then," I said, and walked up to the window. I put both hands at the top of the brown cloth—felt the edge in my fingertips—and tore downwards.

With a horrible ripping sound and a burst of dust and white light, I was blinded for a moment in real air—and sun—upon my face. It was too bright. I squinted my eyes and looked out the window. Was this a curse? This was… purity… love… and freedom. Below wound the river glinting, in the distance I saw the road leading away, a bushel of trees—and a pinnacle. A roof. Towers stretched from the top of the woods, a wall of light stone. There were flags and pleasant smoke rising from the towns all around it. It seemed to radiate with magic and warmth. I could almost hear the voices of the hundreds of people who lived in the city.

Camelot, my dream.

A dream that I knew was quickly ending when a sudden noise startled me. I whirled away from my beloved castle, and saw that all my tapestries were unweaving themselves, writhing like snakes as the threads untangled themselves into messes of color. They flew away from the wall as if a great wind filled them up like sails. My mirror was swinging slowly on its stand from side to side, and with each swing, a new crack appeared in the surface.

And that is when I first began to feel the effect. My stomach suddenly churned over, as if I was going to vomit, (what had I to vomit?).

I nearly collapsed. I hoisted myself onto my chair instead, and with a sudden fear, realized I didn't know how to escape from this room. Mother made a door appear from nowhere. I had no door. With a scream, I grasped my chair in my hands, held it up, and slammed it with all my might into my mirror. The mirror shattered and the glass fell downwards. The light poured in thru the window like a flood, filling every corner in the room with liquid sunlight, working its way around the pieces of glass like searching fingers.

When the last bit of glass was broken with crystalline brilliancy, and the music of it's breaking ceased, I turned and beheld that under one of my tapestries, a door was forming. I didn't even wait for it to fully materialize before I leapt to it, grasped its knob, and shoved the stiff thing open.

A small, cobwebbed stairwell twisted around the edge of my prison. I ran down it, feeling a strange, foreign sense. It was almost as if I needed… food. The sudden hunger slammed my body in empty groans, and a feeling of weakness overriding my limbs. So dear Mother didn't just end my ability to eat—she gave it back, along with end of the curse? What cruel demon thought up these things? So I could starve to death?

I came out an open archway with no door, and found the bank of the river almost at the doorstep. I put my slippered foot against the moist grass, fighting insane laughter at the softness of it. I walked around the perimeter of my prison, and found nothing but riverbank—riverbank—and more riverbank.

I was on a small island in the middle of the river.

I wondered how Nimueh and I came along before, and guessed she must have destroyed the bridge when she abandoned me. The river ran fiercely, with high dark waters and a fast current.

"I am not going to die here," I said to myself, "I say _not yet. _It shall not have me." I looked around crazily, fighting the pain in my abdomen. I clutched my stomach and roved along the embankment, till I came upon a small rowboat.

Oh, the fishermen… they left it here. They must have left it years ago, it was so old and overgrown with weeds and fading wood.

"God and Mary and all the Saints be with them," I sighed with the deepest gratitude, blessing them with the words of another religion I read about in one of my books. The words of the Old Religion did not belong here anymore. I had no need for powers—I was free! The Old Religion was nothing but empty promises and nonexistent doors to me now. It would soon make my heart stop beating and tear me from the light.

I pushed the boat off into the water without a second thought, and took great stomps into the river water. With a giant heave, I threw myself over the side, somersaulting into the belly. There was nothing but bits of burnt branches, a few lines, and an empty basket inside.

The current began to carry me downriver to Camelot. The shore sped by surprisingly fast—I did not even have oars. The river just carried me along in an efficient pulse, dipping down into ripples pleasantly, lapping the water's smacks on its wooden sides.

Then I felt sick. I leaned over the side of the boat and vomited nothing but yellow bile. I felt my face grow wet, and when I put my sleeve to my nose, it came smeared away with blood. My nosebleed didn't last for very long, but it was gruesome enough.

Then, the world began to shift. My whole equilibrium was off, I could feel my brain tipping sideways. The landscape tilted, and the rocking motion of the boat no longer belonged to it only. I felt that same rocking motion in my senses.

So, alas, it is like the dizziness I guessed.

But it felt too soon—I had not yet seen Camelot up close. I laugh to think that I thought, for even a moment, that I'd experience any kind of _life _before death. It's a wonder I even made it so far.

_Oh, blessed sun, and sky,_ I thought, beholding how large the sky felt and how crisp the breeze was. _Don't leave me here, please._

The dizziness grew so bad that my head felt as heavy as stones. I sunk slowly till I lay, horizontally, along the bottom of the boat. I wanted to look out! And see over the wooden sides! But I could not—why even fight anymore? I was dying, simple as that.

I grasped one of the burnt kindling sticks in my hand, using the charcoal end to write. My wrist shook pathetically as I scraped the branch along the whitewashed inside, writing in blocky letters,

_The Lady of Shalott._

I coughed up a bubble of blood. It burst at my lips and dribbled down my chin. Then I began to cry bitterly, singing softly, _Grant me one more. Grant me this much. Please… please… please…_

It was like falling asleep, my body felt at peace. But my mind was screaming in utter terror, begging me not to let go.

It had only been about ten minutes since the knights left my mirror. In those ten minutes I felt like I had lived twice as long as the years in the tower. My whole life were the moments between the trap and the spring.

In ten minutes, I had looked to Camelot, shattered my mirror, left my prison, and fell into an old boat. In the short the river's rush, much faster than the amiable saunter of the horse's knights, I was carried me along the road—parallel to the patrol.

My little boat rocked in the water, and I lay inside. My boat was going faster than the horses. They had not seen me. Any second the river may branch, or I should sink, and no one would ever know of my escape.

"Look there!" cried a voice. "There's a girl! In that boat! We must stop it!"

"She's probably just sunning."

"She was covered in blood, sire! There is something wrong, I can feel it."

"Very well, Lancelot, if you can catch the boat… here; take my rope."

"He's got a strong arm, he can throw out the loop, and drag the boat in."

"Are you always so optimistic, Gawaine?"

"Who, me? No, usually I'm inebriated."

"Arthur—I mean, Sire—he's right, look, you can see her now."

"_Hell! _Lancelot, you've got that rope?"

"Help me drag it in!"

"I told you he had a good arm."

"That was fast. Here. On three. One, two, three, heave! AGAIN! HEAVE!"

"Be careful now. Boat's fallin' apart."

"Lift her out now."

"Is she dead?"

"I can't tell. She's breathing."

"Then she's not _dead, _Gawaine. Honestly. Lancelot, can you carry her?"

"Yes, of course. Wait a moment. Let me mount, now hand her up to me. Careful."

"Merlin, you ride on ahead and warn Gaius that we're bringing a patient on the verge of death."

"Yes, sire!"

"It almost looks as if she was poisoned or starved to death."

"I… I shudder to think. Sire—there is something written on the boat there. What does it say?"

"It says… the Lady of Shalott. Oh—like the isle? The isle of Shalott?"

"The Lady? Never heard of her. She must be our ghost!"

"Surely the tales were founded in some fact. She must haunt the place."

"Never_mind _that now, let's discuss it on the way."

"Oh, I'm sorry, LANCELOT, I thought wanted me to read the blasted boat. Knights! MOUNT UP! Ride for Camelot!"

"I can't go too fast."

"We'll ride with you, and help you if she falls out of the saddle."

"She won't fall. I've got her."

"Of course. Watch her head."

"Sire—do you think she's lived on the isle? Alone?"

"Highly possible."

"I wonder what her name is… she has a pretty face, don't you think?"

"I wouldn't know with all the blood on it, and frankly, I don't care."

"_Right! _You don't care a rat's whisker about any young lady except for your Gwen!"

"Gawaine, you ARE a fool."

"Sorry, Arthur. I mean, Sire! I meant SIRE! Sorry."

"Intolerable, _SIR _Gawaine."

"No, he's right, Sire. You have no eyes for anyone but… the Lady Guinevere. That's not anything to be ashamed of though… it's… it's the strong thing to do. To be dedicated and steady. Gwen loves you for it."

"Hm… Lancelot, that was almost like…"

"A compliment?"

"What Gawaine said."

"Sire, I only mean to speak the truth."

"The truth is welcome."

I was licked in flames, climbing through shards of metal claws. My skin crawled, I burned, I melted in agony. I screamed.

Then I opened my eyes.

"Shhhhh," said Lancelot, holding me in both of his arms, guiding the horse with his knees. "It's alright, love. I've got you. _You're going to be alright._"

* * *

><p><strong>REVIEWS, REVIEWS, REVIEWS? Por favor? =) Let me know what you think! Critiques! Comments! Questions! Ideas! Requests! Wishes! <strong>


	3. God in His mercy lend Her Grace

**Dear Readers,**

**Yay! There are more of you lurking, I can sense it. "don't be a poo, and review!" hehe. So anyway, thank-you for the feedback, I'm glad you guys are enjoying it. I'm getting the feeling this will not be centered on any one person specifically, as this next chapter will be from Merlin's perspective. The main characters will be Elaine, Merlin, Lancelot, Gawaine, Arthur, and Gwen… a little Gaius here, a little Uther there, maybe some unstoppable Leon as well. Just a heads up. Oh, and I realized that the TV show spells it "Gwaine" and I'm using the old Arthurian spelling from ("Gawaine") literature. Sorry if anyone found that irking. I'm not going to change it though =) **

**Hm, let's see if I can stretch this A/N further… I learned how to sing the "Witch's Aria" from the Pilot Episode yesterday (the one where the witch steals Lady Helen's body and sings to the castle to make cobwebs appear and for everyone to snooze). It's quite eerie to sing! Not sure if I can hit the high notes at the end, I'm too shy around my housemates to sing THAT loudly, unless I'm being goofy ;) **

**Let's see, last bit of shameless self-promotion: if you have a tumblr, gimme a follow if you enjoy art, Merlin, confessions of being a nerd, and general tomfoolery. You can find me at papayapie(dot)tumblr(dot)com. **

**OK: I think that about covers everything. Thanks to all who have read! You're much appreciated! Hope you enjoy this next chapter, I know I did =)**

**~Pip**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Three,<strong>

**God in His mercy lend her Grace**

_Merlin's Perspective_

\\\

At Arthur's command, I spurred my horse into a full gallop, gripping both reigns and mane in my fists as the pounding hooves carried me the last two miles down the road. The road veered away from the river bank and went into the road between two embankments, carrying me up into the Lower Towns, and finally, up into the courtyard.

I nearly fell from the horse in my hurry to get off, got a foot caught in the stirrup, and stumbled across the flagstones in my usual clumsiness.

"Ey!" shouted a voice. "Don't leave the horse there pantin', boy! Take it back to the stables!"

"I'm on an errand for Prince Arthur," I protested, blinking owlishly. "It's horribly urgent! Can you take it? Please?"

The guard—armored to be a soldier, and probably put-out because he wasn't a knight included on these patrols—grunted and grasped the bridle of the sweaty horse. "FINE," he snapped, "But you'll be doin' more than yer fair share of stable-chores later. I'll see to it."

"Why—you," I muttered, gazing at him and mumbling over my reply. "Just—just take the blasted horse! Someone's life is at stake!" without listening to his petulant argument, I went under the shadows of the hall, ran two steps at a time of the twirling staircase, and burst through the door of Gaius's chambers.

"GAIUS!" I screeched, flailing in unceremoniously.

"Merlin!" Gaius replied, jumping from his seat. "What's wrong? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine!" I babbled. "We found an oarless boat that had been set adrift. There was a girl in it, she looked like she was dying. She was all bloody and skinny." I stopped, panting. "Whew. Huh. I, uh, Arthur sent me ahead to warn you that we were bringing her here. They'll be here any minute."

"Good boy," Gaius motioned for me to follow him. "Can you tell me anything else about her condition before she arrives?"

"She seemed horribly malnourished," I said, helping him clear off the rudimentary table for examining unconscious patients. "She had blood all around her mouth and nose."

Gaius stopped at the last bit, pausing as he put a sack filled with lavender to serve as a pillow. "Blood?"

I nodded. "Why, is that odd?"

"Very odd. If she had been trapped in a boat without oars, and nearly starved to death, why would she be bleeding from the nose and mouth?" Gaius cocked his eyebrows in a manner that I'd never been able to imitate or copy. (Not that I'd tried. Except once. When Arthur made an immature remark. It involved hard alcohol—don't ask.)

"Oh!" I said loudly. "I can hear them coming."

The whole courtyard echoed with clattering hoof-beats. Voices shouted, boots dismounted, and a hushed group began slowly coming up the stairs. I held the door open for them as Arthur and Lancelot entered, Lancelot carrying the girl with ease, and Arthur looking perplexed (that's a permanent feature of his face… I'm sure of it.)

Gawaine stopped at the door, leaning on it with cheerful look on his face. "What's with YOU?" he asked me.

"What?" I asked, unsure of what he meant.

"Look's like someone mucked your favorite stall for you. Why so glum?"

I stared at him incredulously, picturing dark hair, a shredded dress, and the lapping waves of a lake. "That girl could _die_!"

Gawaine shrugged. "Gaius'll help her. Don't be so sorrowful."

I opened my mouth to protest, and realized that I had been thinking of Freya, and not of the girl we found in the boat. I bit my lip and looked away, watching Gaius as he began to examine the girl.

Suddenly, Gaius shouted. "OUT! I need EVERYONE OUT!"

Arthur's mouth fell open with shock. "G-Gaius, what…"

"This is not going to be pretty," Gaius snapped, with a greater amount of authority that I only heard when I had done something _really _bad. "The less people in here, the better. Merlin, come over here and help me."

No one moved except me. I joined Gaius's side and looked down at the girl, whose skin was turning a white-yellow color. She was twitching and shaking all over, and her eyes were rolling back in her head.

Arthur shook himself and hastily went for the exit. "Send me word of what happens," he said in a low voice to me, going through the door. His arm snaked around the frame and grasped Gawaine's shirt, dragging the reluctant knight after him despite his loudmouth protests.

Lancelot ran over and shut the door, and locked it.

"What is wrong?" I gasped, finally finding my voice.

"It's a curse," Gaius said softly. "I need you to use the spell that you've been studying. Do you remember?"

"I used it on Arthur, when he was injured in the woods, before we came back to Camelot after Morgana's usurping," I protested, looking wildly towards the shaking girl and back to Gaius. "It hardly worked!"

"Please, try, and hurry," Gaius said, squeezing my arm. "Before any one interrupts."

Lancelot stood in front of the door, leaning against it with his weight, and nodded fervently. "No one will catch you. We'll tell them the seizure passed once she was fully hydrated."

I took a deep breath, trying to keep my nervous hands from shaking. "Alright," I said, "I'll try…" I closed my eyes and concentrated, and barely heard my own words as I held my hand above her forehead and said the spell. "_Gehalge,_" I said firmly, forcing all my concentration on her, feeling the pulsating magic electrify my veins and burn my eyes.

The girl immediately stopped shaking, but her eyes remained white. "It didn't work," I cried fretfully. I slumped down on the bench, feeling lower than ever. "She's going to die, isn't she?"

"There is one more, please, Merlin, don't give up yet," Gaius hoisted me to my feet again. "The one that should have restored your youth, when you became an old man."

"That didn't work EITHER!" I replied hotly.

"The girl is dying!" Gaius exclaimed, shocked at my protests. "Merlin!"

I couldn't answer him. _It isn't that I don't want to help her… it's just…_ With an angry roar, I put both hands on either side of the girls face, growling, "_Edniwe min geoguo!_" Suddenly the power that sprung through me lit my blood afire so quickly that I felt my whole body shake, and I stumbled back, surprised.

"OH!" I said, as if it was obviously going to do that and I had known all along. "It… it didn't feel that way when I used it before."

The girl's eyelids drifted shut, and her chest lowered, only to not rise again.

"Oh no," I whispered, blinking slowly. "I've… I've killed her!" Gaius bent close to her, listening for breath. I backed away, turned, and marched from the room.

"Lancelot," Gaius said in an odd, clear voice, "This girl has suffered much, and she is dead now. But miracles are sometimes late. Will you watch her for a moment?"

"Of course!" Lancelot said, oddly eager.

I sat on my bed with a thud, avoiding looking at the door. Gaius stepped through and shut it behind him, and did not venture to come sit next to me like he usually did when he wanted to comfort me.

"What just happened?" Gaius asked plainly. "I've never seen you hesitate to try and save someone's life before."

"Don't you get it, Gaius?" I said, angrily. "Of course I wanted to save her life! But to try and save her with spells that have failed me? I didn't want to be responsible!"

"Re-SPONSIBLE?" repeated Gaius, with a judgmental look.

"Not, ugh," I waved my hand, "Not like _that. _I didn't want it to be my fault. When she died. And it is, now. Do you… do you even know—I thought, being a physician, you'd understand. I'm responsible for a lot of death. I've hurt people, Gaius. And once I start hearing 'oh, try this and FAIL, Merlin!' I can only feel the weight of another innocent soul that I've extinguished."

Gaius looked hurt. "Oh Merlin!"

"I knew she was going to die," I wiped my all-too-easily-wetted eyes. "Trying a faulty spell beforehand just… makes it my doing."

Gaius came towards me, and put his hand to my chin, and lifted up my face. I avoided his gaze, and looked at the floor still.

"Merlin," he said kindly, "Look at me."

I gave him a furtive glance, and looked away again. _I hate vulnerability in front of my guardian… I just do. _

"It's not your fault, boy," Gaius said quietly. "You are a gifted young man. You dwell too much on those you've lost, and not on the ones you've saved. Every SINGLE person in Camelot owes you their lives—and they don't even know it! Don't let what you view as your failures cause you to doubt yourself. Someone will always be in need of your help, Merlin. Whether you succeed or not is nothing. The fact that you try shows who you really are."

"And what am I?" I said bitterly.

"Special," Gaius smiled, having expected the question.

"GAIUS! MERLIN!" Lancelot suddenly shouted loudly from the other room. "COME QUICK!"

I sprang to my feat, heart pounding. Gaius and I ran down the steps into the other room, and I slowed to let Gaius take the lead and approach the table first.

Lancelot was sitting on the table, cradling the body of the girl in his arms. Her eyes were open, and her mouth was hanging open slightly, as she panted.

"She's alive!" I gaped, dissolving into a fit of joyous, crazed kind of laughter. I put my hands on my hair and spun around once, looking around for something to help with. I spotted our bucket of water, fetched a tumbler, and scooped some water for the girl. Relief seemed to cascade over me like the water in the cup… joy was too small a word to use. _I healed her. It worked. She's not dead, and it's not my fault. She's alive. IT WORKED!_

"You are safe now, do not panic," Gaius said kindly, bending down and looking into her dark blue eyes. "My name is Gaius, and I am a physician."

"W-w-water," croaked the girl.

"Of course!" I said, too excitedly. I thrust the cup into her face, and Lancelot took it from me quickly, holding it to her lips, and helping her drink. She began to drink too much and too eagerly, and Gaius had to gently tug it away. "Slowly, now, my dear," he said, putting the cup aside. She stared after it hungrily. "Tell me," he said, "What is your name?"

"I'm… Elaine…" she said hoarsely. "I… I was under a curse."

"Do you know the nature of this curse?" Gaius probed quietly.

"I…" the girl's soft, pale gaze hardened, into a very determined look. "I was cursed in the tower, on the Isle of Shalott, to never look upon the city of Camelot. If I should, I would die. I am dying, aren't I?"

"As far as I can tell," Gaius said, looking at her critically, "Your curse has been eradicated. And I was unaware the Isle had any occupants."

"Only a very powerful sorcerer could do such a thing, for I was cursed with the blackest magic of the Old Religion, in a heartless attempt to protect me," Elaine said, her voice becoming clearer. Even as we spoke, her skin color was returning to normal.

To my horror, her gaze went over Gaius's shoulder, and looked at me. "You," she said, not unkindly. "You—you were the servant boy. In the mirror. Does the Regent know of your magic? My mother told me magic was illegal. Take great care! I do not wish for my rescuer to be punished on my account. For your sake, will you—please—do not say anything. If you must explain my recovery (though no one will ask, I have no friends) then… say I was not as close to death as you previously thought. Yes?"

This long speech could hardly be taken in. I stood there, dumbfounded. "Y-yes," I finally managed. "That… that's what I would say, too. Good idea… Elaine." I smiled at her, unable to think of doing anything else.

"You will do well here in Camelot," Gaius said with a deep frown, "If you can keep his secret. If not…"

"I would never give the boy away," Elaine assured. "I have magic as well as you. If not for self-preservation, than it would be in gratitude." She nearly sobbed with relief, letting a smile overtake her face. "I just… I can't believe it… you saved me… and…" suddenly, she looked down, and noted that Lancelot's arms were wrapped around her, supporting her. If she hadn't grown serious so suddenly, I would have laughed outright.

"Who holds me?" she said cautiously, attempting to turn and see whom it was.

"Oh, I'm, I'm sorry," Lancelot fumbled, loosening his grip. He let go and stepped back, and she was able to sit up as she was, on her own strength. _That spell really DID work! Huh!_

For the awkward millisecond that followed, Elaine looked at Lancelot, and Lancelot looked at Elaine. "You heard me," she whispered. "You saw me."

"I—what?" Lancelot asked, equally quiet. "I thought—I mean, I don't know…"

"We heard singing in the distance," I corrected. "He spotted your boat."

Gaius observed, looking bemused and concerned both.

"No," Elaine said, shifting, staring hard at Lancelot. "You saw me, in the mirror. You looked right at me."

"Mirror?" Gaius said.

"Mirror?" I repeated.

"Sir Lancelot," Elaine said, cocking her head, like a bird might observe someone on a picnic. "I watched you from my mirror… you inspired me to… well, I guess, this won't make any sense to you."

"My Lady," Lancelot said calmly, taking a tentative step towards her. "You've been though a lot. I am sure that the Physician would agree with me—that you should rest, and drink, and explain how you came to be in the boat—_later._"

"He's right," Gaius said. "Here, take this blanket. I want you to lie down, and remain calm, and breathe easy. We don't want you to overdo it."

Elaine looked stubborn. "I… I suppose." She lay down again awkwardly, holding the blanket around her shoulders, and giving a little shiver. And before Gaius could say anything else, she was fast asleep, breathing lightly.

"My god," Lancelot exhaled, putting his hand to his forehead. "What IS this? Mirror? I inspired her? What in the world was she speaking of?"

"She must be delirious, we will have to be vigilant and make sure she does not let some kind of fever develop," Gaius said sternly.

"Delirious?" questioned Lancelot, breaking his reverie. "Oh—certainly. Sure… only…"

"Only what?" I urged.

"How did she know my name? I never told her." Lancelot sat on a stool, in awe of the now-sleeping figure. "There is something different about her. She—well, you were in the other room. I watched her—she was dead, mind you—and suddenly, I noticed her eyelids shift. And then she blinked. She was struggling for breath, and it wasn't until I sprung from my seat and helped her sit up, that she drew a great, big, shuddering breath as if it were her last, and _she whispered my name. _Then I called for you."

"That is odd, have you met her before?" Gaius asked.

"Never. I would have remembered her, surely," Lancelot replied.

Suddenly, Elaine jolted, and she woke up again. "MOTHER!" she cried, in a panic, sitting straight up and fighting off her blanket. Lancelot was quicker than Gaius, and gathered her up in his arms, calming her and telling her that she was safe and with a physician.

"Yes, I remember!" Elaine shrieked. "The physician, the boy to whom I owe my life, and Sir Lancelot. But I'd forgotten! I was just—following my dream! To see the city! Where am I?"

"Camelot!" Gaius said, taking her shaking hand in his, and feeling her pulse.

"Oh yes—you said—I'd do well here," Elaine spluttered, struggling, but Lancelot held her fast. "I looked upon the city and was unconscious for the rest of my journey—but that is my selfish goal. Fulfilled, yes? But there is one other!"

"She's talking nonsense," Lancelot said soberly.

"Did I permanently damage her brain?" I said in horror.

"No, no no, LISTEN!" Elaine said, calming herself in order for us to see past her hysteria. "I'm sorry! It's my Mother. I'm looking for her. I was cursed to never look upon Camelot by her powers, but I dreamed of seeing it. Even my magic had no effect."

"Your magic?" I asked.

"Mostly calling things to me, and the power of my voice, singing—it's my songs."

"Like Lady Helen's possessor," I said knowingly.

"Don't distract me," Elaine was crying now. "I'm so selfish. I'd forgotten her. She cursed me—yes—but she's still my mother. She betrayed me, and left me for twenty years with spells to make me alive without food and drink. It was her twisted kind of love, to protect me from Uther, don't you see? And do not people forgive each other? Oh, how my anger with her melted when I looked upon Camelot. I did not even realize how my love for her grew when I stepped into the boat. I was too focused on my impending death."

"Slow down," Gaius cautioned, handing her the tumbler again. "You will exhaust yourself at this rate. We will listen to you. But you'll only hurt yourself like this."

She drank two large gulps, and handed it back. With a look over her shoulder, Lancelot smiled grimly, but still did not leave her be. He sat behind her on the table, arms wrapped loosely around her middle, as if to hold her crumbling reality together for her. She shrugged with the resignation that he would probably stick around for as long as Gaius would allow him.

"It's a matter of urgency," Elaine began, clearly and tearless, and I could see that she was struggling to make herself speak slower. "My mother promised to return, and never did. Something must have happened. I saw my city—and now, my mission is to find her. Tell her I forgive her. I must make things right between us again."

"What kind of mother curses her own daughter to death, just from seeing a city?" I demanded, feeling the unjust anger for the sake of this girl my own age. Gaius elbowed me.

"Tell us, Lady," Lancelot rolled his eyes at me. "What is your mother's name?"

"Nimueh," said Elaine. I felt my stomach turn over, and I thought I was going to be sick. "Nimueh, the sorceress. The one who aided King Uther, and was betrayed. She said she was joining the war against him—tell me, is Camelot at peace? Where are her enemies? For my mother will be hidden with them!"

Gaius looked at me in horror. Lancelot looked at me, then Gaius, then back again. He may not have known that I myself killed—destroyed—Nimueh, but from our gazes, he could tell that she was dead.

"Um," I said, slowly chewing over my thoughts—all stumbling and tripping over one another, to fight for the place that was forefront of my brain—my eyes unwillingly filled with tears. _Oh god. I killed someone's mother. I killed Nimueh the witch… Nimueh the mother. She had a daughter to come home to. And I killed her. _

I stumbled backwards and sat heavily, questioning whether or not the room was spinning, or if it was just me.

"What?" Elaine said fearfully. "Please… if you have something to tell me… if you know the woman… tell me now. Please."

"Lady Elaine," Gaius said, sitting as well. He drew the stool close to her, and took her hand in both of his. "You've been very brave. But I wish you to make a full recovery. You'll need your strength, so I find it best not to…"

"TELL ME!" Elaine screeched ferociously, trying to fight Lancelot again. "Do you know something of her? She is Camelot's enemy, I know that. But I am not. Can you not trust me with her whereabouts? I will not alert her to what is here, I swear! She's my mother…"

"My Lady," Gaius squeezed her hand. "Please, calm yourself…Merlin!" he commanded shortly. "Bring me one of the sleeping potions, please."

I could hardly move.

Elaine shook her head firmly. "No!" she protested. "I will—I will be calm. Don't drug me. I've had enough of bindings. I swear, on my recently-returned-to-me life, that I will rest without a sound for as long as you want, if you'll only tell me what you know. I know you know something about her."

"Nimueh is dead," I said hoarsely.

"Merlin," Gaius said, not in a reprimanding way. More kindly than I expected.

"She… she is dead. I am so sorry." I wiped my eyes, and took a heaving breath. Elaine and I stared at each other. She was looking at me doubtfully.

"Dead?" she repeated. "H-how?"

"Lightening strike," I said, numbly. "I'm sorry… that you had to learn like this." Lancelot knew for certain now that I was responsible. He closed his eyes with a grimace, and then gave me a look full of pity. He didn't hate me for it.

"How long ago?" Elaine questioned, not fully getting it.

"Almost four… five years." I said, my heart literally being squeezed with pain.

Elaine shrugged away from Lancelot. And this time, he let her go.

"Gaius—it was Gaius, wasn't it?" Elaine asked. "And Merlin?"

"Yes," Gaius said, putting her blanket back around her.

"I promised I would rest quietly," Elaine said in a monotone. "But I'm going back on my word—just a little. I will rest. But… but… I'm not… I won't be completely silent," she lay down, and buried her head into the pillow, and let muffled sobs flow.

"God, I can't listen," I put my hands to my ears and fled through the front door. _No no no… why did this happen? Why didn't Nimueh go back to her daughter when she had the chance to? Why didn't she say something? If I had known… would I have… still… _

I paced back and forth in the hall outside the door. I could hear Lancelot sitting quietly beside Elaine, saying soothing words to her. Something in the back of my mind told me that he would never willingly leave her side from this point on. Strange… I wouldn't have seen that coming. Usually I am the one who clings to newcomers like a new pet. Lancelot on the other hand… to make his focus go away from unhappiness, to forget that he ever once loved Gwen… that would be good for him, I think.

Gaius opened the door and found me pacing. Wordlessly, he pulled me into an embrace.

"I don't know what to do," I whispered.

"Nothing. Nothing yet," Gaius assured me. "You did the right thing—you saved my life, your mothers, and your own, and ALL of the Camelot when you killed Nimueh. Don't forget. By losing one, you've saved hundreds."

"And I destroyed Elaine's life… she could have gotten off that Isle years ago. But I killed the source. All of it is my fault. I… I can't handle it!" With an apologetic nod, I backed away. "I've got to… find Arthur." I said.

"Merlin!" Gaius said hastily. "You aren't thinking of…"

"No, no, I'm not going to tell him," I whispered. "My secret stays with us, and everyone else in that room. But—I'm—I'm going to confide in him. I have to this time."

"About WHAT?"

"I'm going to tell him about Nimueh. And the girl."

"But Merlin! The Cup of Life—her defeat…"

"He'll understand. He must this time. I will make it sound like a lucky blow—I will. No sorcery. Please…" I was pleading now. "Gaius, I just…"

Gaius's harsh features relaxed. "Sometimes… sometimes I forget that you are like any other young man… who needs a friend."

I nodded solemnly.

"Be careful. Don't slip up."

"I won't."

\\\

"Sire," I said, stepping through the door to Arthur's chambers. He had removed his armor and was actually sitting there cleaning it himself. "Oh, I was going to, sorry," I said.

"Gaius needed you, it was a dire situation!" Arthur looked up quickly, and put down the rag. "Tell me what happened! It looked very serious when I left."

"She had a seizure," I explained, clasping my hands behind my back. "We—we thought she died. But she actually woke up. She was severely dehydrated… so… some water and rest… should help."

"What _happened _to her though?" Arthur asked, confused.

"Oh—the boat. Yes. Well, she didn't really tell us," I said, completely honest. "She mentioned something about visiting Camelot being her dream. I think something went wrong on her journey. Either way, she was without food and water—for a very long time—hence her delicate condition."

"Ah, well, thank goodness, nothing Gaius can't handle," Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. I fought an ironic sort of grin, remembering that there was very little to grin about.

Then Arthur gave me a friendly nod. "You look like you've been through hell," he said sympathetically. "Have a seat before you fall over."

I joined him at the table and folded my hands, avoiding his piercing gaze. _Why does he always read me like an open book? I'm a closed book! A closed book with a lock!_

"I have something I need to tell you," I said clearly. "This will not be easy for you to hear."

Arthur grinned. "Whatever it is, _Merlin, _I'm sure I can handle it."

I leveled my gaze at him. "This is serious."

"Everything's serious with you, nowadays," Arthur said, letting—at least—half his smile fade into a respectful kind of look. "Go on. I'll listen."

"You remember when," I took a deep breath, "You remember when you were dealt a mortal blow by the Questing Beast?"

Arthur looked a little disgusted. "Yes, and it's not a pleasant memory."

"You would have died."

"YES, but Gaius's cure…"

"There was no cure," I interrupted. "Listen to me—please. Do not hate me. All I knew was—that I had to save you. I'd do anything—well, I'd still do anything. As your servant, I had duties to fulfill, and," I played up the part a little, "I didn't know you very well, I was naïve."

Arthur's face looked very dark and very serious now.

"In order to save you, I went to an island, where the cup of Eternal Life was kept at the time—before Morgause stole it for Cenred's army. The water there was… given to me… I slipped it into the potions that Gaius gave you. To heal you." I broke off, choosing my words carefully. Arthur looked like he was somewhere between strangling me and knighting me. "Wait—the story is not finished. I discovered that something was wrong, when my mother showed up at Gaius's, deathly ill. And then Gaius—well, I will shorten this story up a bit. I discovered that Nimueh was the cause behind the recent threats to everyone I loved."

"Nimueh," Arthur repeated. "Come again?"

"Nimueh," I repeated, frustratingly, "She held your life in your hands once, in the caves—she poisoned the chalice at the banquet. The one that nearly killed me."

"I know who she is, but I'm confused," Arthur held up a hand, "Nimueh was threatening you, and your mother, and Gaius? No offense Merlin, but what makes you that special?"

"It was never us," I lied, "We were just the beginning. Soon YOU, and all of Camelot, would see her powers. Her dark powers. The whole kingdom was in danger, Arthur. I did what I had to do."

"So… you consorted to magic to heal me from the Questing Beast?" Arthur said incredulously.

"If that's how you view it," I said coldly. "No one complained when Sir Leon was administered the Cup of Life."

Arthur took a moment to chew over that. "If my father did not have reason to suffer over the fact, then I'll let this one pass. For now." He seemed to be struggling to keep from asking the millions of questions in his mind. "Please… continue."

"Hear this now, and hear it carefully," I grimaced. "I… I killed Nimueh."

"I thought she just disappeared into the North somewhere," Arthur said doubtfully.

"Arthur, I. Killed. Her." I repeated.

Arthur stared at me, open-mouthed. "HOW?" he demanded. "A SORCERESS? How did you accomplish THAT?"

"I confronted her about her threat to Camelot," I said, again, heeding Gaius's advice and choosing my words carefully. "She attacked me, but I managed avoid her magic—don't give me that LOOK!—I can dodge things, you know. She grew careless, and thought I was running away. When she began to leave, I caught her off guard. I struck her."

_That's pretty clever on my part. I did strike her. But… with lightening. _

Arthur was staring at me, open-mouthed. "If what you're saying is true," he said, flabbergasted. "Then you saved us all. That almost makes you a hero, Merlin!"

"Yeah, almost," I brushed that aside. _Almost a friend, ALMOST wise, ALMOST a hero… ALMOST a person._

"Why didn't you tell me?" Arthur said, looking a little hurt.

"I never confided in you." I said clearly, and let that sink in.

Arthur knew this was true. "Yes. But I confided in _you. _I thought that'd make some sense to your thick skull—don't you remember what I said on our way to find Balinor the Dragon Lord? I said we COULD be friends, you know. If only you'd give it a go."

"Right NOW, Arthur," I snapped, "I'm giving it a go NOW—don't you get it? I'm confiding in you. Stop circling the issue. I mean—Sire. Yeah. I've got to tell you something now."

"Wait—that whole thing about killing Nimueh and saving my life with magic—that wasn't it?" Arthur looked blown away. "Honestly, I don't know what else to expect."

"Would you believe that—that ENTIRE confession—was leading up to something that I only wanted to tell you—not because you're the prince, but because you're my friend?"

"Really," Arthur replied, smiling, "Does someone need some sympathy? Another headlock?"

I shook my head. "The girl we found today. She's… she's been a victim of some cruel things, Arthur. The least of which is that she was abandoned by her mother."

Arthur sobered. "I can't say I don't relate to the absence."

"She dreamed of finding her mother here in Camelot, and reconciling with her."

"Oh," said Arthur, interested.

"Nimueh is her mother," I said, the full reality of the fact settling back in.

"OH," Arthur said again, shell-shocked. "Well, Merlin, THAT can't be helped. You did Camelot a duty by killing her. Considering whether or not she had family… well, it's not something you do in a battle. Many knights learn this, in order to be strong—at the last minute before the sword flies—you can't try to imagine if your opponent has a wife and children waiting for him. That's not how one fights. Next time, you'll know it better!" Arthur grinned, satisfied with his conclusive advice.

There was a short silence. "I told you," I said, unable to figure out if I was angry with Arthur or myself, "Because I… needed a friend."

"Yes, you said that."

I stood, and pushed the chair back. "That girl in there has just found out that she lost her mother. She's an orphan now. And it's my fault. She doesn't know it, but I'm going to live with the fact I killed her mother for the rest of my life."

Arthur stood too. "Merlin…"

"If MY mother threatened your father, and you had her killed—but you made me believe that she died in an accident—wouldn't you feel terrible?" I let that analogy run its course. "Wouldn't it be hard to see me polish your saddles and clean your armor and not think to yourself—'hmm, I murdered his traitorous mother! Too bad!'"

Arthur looked like he'd gotten punched in the gut. "Merlin," he said again.

"I feel bloody awful," I started to walk towards the door.

"MerLIN," Arthur said again, louder. I turned and looked at him reluctantly.

"I'm glad you told me," Arthur said sincerely. "I thank you. And you have my _deepest _regret that you feel badly about Nimueh. You made the right choice, killing her. It's hard to bear, I know. But the girl may not understand, being abandoned and probably a little worse for wear in her grief. But I don't look at you, and see you being guilty of the death of a mother."

I looked at him steadily, unsure of where this comfort was going. It sounded rehearsed to me.

"That's what true heroes do," Arthur said. "Heroes don't always get parades and knighthoods. Sometimes the true heroes are the ones that have the heavy burdens to bear, and they have to bear them silently, without allowing others to know how much of their suffering that they have or haven't caused." He stepped closer, and put a hand on my shoulder. "I _recognize _that you must do this. Heroism is a funny thing. It won't go unnoticed by all. Least of all me."

I, however, did not expect THAT.

"Thank-you, Sire," I said, a little formally.

"If you need anyone to talk to," Arthur said, opening the door for me. _ME. His servant! _"You come right here, right away. Your confidences aren't unwanted. I'd hoped you would confide your weird little secret to me sooner or later."

"Weird little secret?" I repeated, wide-eyed.

"Oh, like I can't tell," Arthur scoffed. "You can't hide anything from me. And now I know about you saving my life with the Cup of Life, and now we can just continue on without pretenses! Agreed?" he held out his hand to shake mine, a grim sort of smile on his face.

It felt like a million years before I shook his hand, sealing my doom to one particular future—one day, when he found out the truth—he would look back on this conversation, and he would hate me.

\\\

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><p><strong>Wow guys! That's eleven pages of 12 point font and single spaced! Why is it so easy for fiction and so hard for papers? Ugh. =) well, anyway, this was really fun to write. I hope to write more in Merlin's perspective, but I the next one will be back to Elaine's perspective. <strong>

**Oh, and PS, I know it seems weird to include the plot from the Questing Beast episode, but I'm really trying to draw in things from all the seasons to make things fit cohesively together. The two spells Melin uses are the actual spells from the show, from episodes "Queen of Hearts" and "L'Morte De Arthur". I am trying to include character development for Arthur and Merlin's friendship, especially. **

**ALSO, again, I know it seems weird to include the Hollywood-ized style of having someone jerk awake and SIT STRAIGHT UP out of a sleep and yell something. I told myself I'd never use that, because it's cheesy. But I actually experienced that sensation myself, and knew that it wasn't just 'made up'. I was sound asleep one night, and something deep in my mind (less like a dream, and more like a sound) seemed to suggest there was something in my closet. You would not BELIEVE how shocked I was to find that I had thrown myself forward in a sitting position, panting, and staring at my closet. Hence—all bets were off! I knew I could include that whenever I darn well pleased! =) (oh, and there was nothing in the closet. I looked.) **

**Reviews, reviews, reviews! Thanks! Perhaps—one review per page? That's eleven at this rate =) I'll feel rich! **


	4. One Burning Flame Together

**Dear Reviewers,**

**Thank you for your feedback! It makes me so happy! Here are some answers to your comments.**

**Sorrow Cheshire** – Lancelot will be paired with Elaine, and Merlin will be alone as usual. He still has feelings for Freya.

**Softballgirl** – Lancelot knows about Merlin's magic because in Season 1, episode 5, a griffin attacks the city and Lancelot finds Camelot's knights either dead or unconscious and takes on the beast himself. Merlin enchants Lancelot's lance in mid-throw, successfully killing the griffin. Lancelot tells Merlin that he isn't blind, he saw what he did, and he swears to never tell a soul. But he feels badly for taking the credit. Lancelot, again in season 3, encourages Merlin about his magic and wishes that he could be knighted. Lancelot not only thinks Merlin is special but really cares for his safety in secrecy as well.

**Fairy Pirate** – don't worry, Gwen loves Arthur in this story too!

**Enjoy this next chapter, folks! Twas lovely reading things from you all! **

**~Pip**

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><p><strong>Answers to a few season 4 questions:<strong> I am trying to keep this as canon as possible. Now that most of you have seen series 4, you're probably wondering how I'm going to work with Lancelot's tragic circumstances in the first double-parter episodes… no worries, I've got plans! And Morgana will probably not be in this story much, if at all. There's a few opportunities I might employ her in.

**Enjoy!**

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><p>Chapter Four, One Burning Flame Together<p>

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_Elaine's Perspective_

_/ / / _

In the shadows I floated, somewhere between blissful freedom and darkest grief. Why did I not suspect that my mother was dead? I should have prepared myself. It should have given me relief to know my abandonment was not of her fault, but the boy Merlin said that she died almost four or five years ago. So what of the many, many years before? When I was a lonely child, living and weaving alone, and waiting for her? Answers evaded me as I clung to precious sleep, using sleep like one might use a strong drink. In the twilight there is no pain, only dreams. It is upon waking that the pestle grinds my grief deep into the heart's mortar.

But in the chaos, there was something that remained still, a single line that bound me to never fully sleeping, like a rope keeping me in the harbor. It was a hand that never left my own. Being a light sort of sleeper, and having the sinful desire to never wake again, the hand entwined its fingers with my own, and clasped it. Even when my hand grew clammy with warmth, cold with chills, and then warm again—it never let go.

I felt myself cautiously approaching the strange, gray pool that hovers just before consciousness. Some foolish, girlish whim hoped that Lancelot was the one that held my hand, and would be there to greet me when I woke. I didn't want his comfort or pity—but to simply speak with him. Speak with him without hysteria or madness, and just find _something… _I felt a connection, but I didn't know what it was, and I wanted to find out why.

"Sir Lancelot?" I said clearly, opening my eyes wide.

"Hush, my Lady, be still," said a rumbling, stern voice. The old physician was sitting beside my bed. My hands were empty… and so was my heart.

I looked around the room, avoiding the keen gaze of the older man. "How long have I been sleeping?"

"Tis the noon hour, of second day in Camelot. You cried yourself to sleep." The physician looked at me, kindly. "But the sun is out today."

"Sunshine," I said, tasting the word and relishing the thought. "Do you think I could go out and see it?"

"Today?" his face blanched. "I do not think that is wise. You—" he paused. "You nearly died."

"Didn't I?" I said hazily. "I don't remember much between Lancelot pulling me from the boat, and my hysterical ramblings. I am so embarrassed."

"Don't be. It was a shock for you. One that I would rather have waited till you were properly healthy."

"Better to get it all over with at once," I said. "May I sit up?"

"Yes, indeed," the physician helped me sit up, and propped up several flour-sack pillows behind me. "I've made you some porridge."

"What is porridge?" I asked.

Gaius hesitated. "Food?"

"It's been so long since I've eaten," I said, "I'm certain I probably had it when I was young, but I don't remember."

"How long have you been without food?" Gaius questioned, eyebrows furrowed.

"The years are… blurry," I confessed. "How long has it been since the Great Purge?"

"Twenty-three years," Gaius replied, by the look on his face, he was probably wondering if I'd been starving for twenty-three years.

I tried to do the sums in my head, but my skills were rudimentary. The most I knew about numbers was counting the threads for a magical tapestry, and the page numbers of a book read over and over.

"I was about ten, when she…" my breath hitched, involuntarily. "Cast the spell on the tower. I have been about thirteen years without food and drink."

I was afraid I was going to give the physician his own seizure. The look on his face was horrified.

"And that was part of her curse?" he asked, frowning deeply.

"Allow me to explain," I said, unable to let myself feel anger with her at this point. I was very angry, betrayed, and bitter—but hadn't I forgiven her? In my joy at seeing Camelot, and being alive—I only wished to make things right between us. But I can't, for she is in her grave, and I escaped mine.

"Go on," the physician swept up a bowl from the table, brought it to me, and handed me a small wooden spoon. "It's not very good, but it's nourishing."

"Thank-you," I said slowly, taking a spoonful. I was surprised by how tasteless it was, but how it flooded my entire being with a feeling of satisfaction and gratitude. I forgot my story and ate three more mouthfuls.

"Slow down," chuckled Gaius, as he sat beside my bedside, eating his own bowl of porridge.

I replaced my spoon, and took a deep breath. "My mother was responsible for the birth of Arthur, the prince. She told me as much."

"Aye, that is true," Gaius nodded. "But we do not speak of it in public."

"Understandable," I said. "Our home—a grand house, with a garden and an enchanted wall—was hidden from unfriendly eyes by magic. For as long as the Great Purge was going on, Nimueh was not worried about our discovery."

"We never learned her whereabouts," Gaius confirmed. "The only time she showed herself to Camelot, publically, it was on the Isle of the Blessed. As far away as possible."

"To protect me," I inferred, though something deep within me insisted that it was for her own self-preservation. "But one night, I was only a few years old, she came back from an outing, covered in blood that was not her own."

"Uther's first victory," Gaius said, in a low voice. "Nimueh's magic was everywhere. The last of the dragons was captured. We did not even know she was there."

"That night, we left our home. It dissolved into nothingness—or at least my dreams seem to think so. We went to the old tower on the Isle of Shalott. She cursed it to remain nearly invisible to the human eye. We lived there."

"So close to Camelot," Gaius said quietly.

"Yes," I said, suddenly beginning to choke up. I swallowed the threat of tears. "When I was ten or eleven, my mother lay on a curse on me, that if I should look down to Camelot through the window, I would surely die. She cursed me to live without food or drink. And then she left me, and never returned."

"My dear child," Gaius said tenderly, taking my hand.

Surprised at his kindness, my eyes filled to their brims, but I did not lose control. "I was alone for ages, upon ages. It feels like a horrible nightmare now. I read books over and over, I wove magical tapestries, I watched my enchanted mirror and hoped for a glimpse of the outside world. It was sporadic and unpredictable. Until the… Sir Lancelot appeared."

"Ah, yes," Gaius urged. "Something strange happened there?"

"I could hear the Regent Arthur say his name, and Sir Lancelot came from the bushes, and he looked through my mirror, right into my eyes. Sir Lancelot thinks its madness, doesn't he? He thinks _I'm _mad?"

Gaius fought a small smile. "I think not. He was at your side all night. Only moments before you woke up, I finally commanded him to get some sleep."

_I hadn't imagined it, Sir Lancelot was holding my hand._

"I see," I said slowly, taking a deep breath, regaining control. "It was the strangest sensation. Sir Lancelot inspired me to damn the curse and forge my own brief future, even though it meant suicide. My dream was to see Camelot for myself. I got out of the tower with some trouble, and saw Camelot beyond the woods…" I sighed, remembering the view. "It was the most glorious moment of freedom. But then the curse began to descend, I crawled into a boat—I know nothing, all the hysteria and confusion just blurs together—and then I was here. And it was real, I wasn't dreaming, and you said the curse was gone…"

"Yes, if all bodes well," Gaius replied.

"You tell me magic is illegal," I asked, "And yet your boy—Merlin, was it? Risked it to save me. That is…" I hesitated. "Incredibly brave of him. I don't know how I can repay him. Magic has always been a curious thing in my life—something I've resented and hated for keeping me trapped, yet loving and clinging to because it was my only connection to the world outside of the tower, and the only form of power I had."

"And you practice Magic regularly?" Gaius asked cautiously.

"I have no desire to," I said slowly, "My singing is enchanted, and I can weave by command and not by hands if I chose to. But I don't," I added this passionately. "I wish nothing to do with it, anymore. If my mother is truly gone, I have no need of it. Magic was hers, not mine."

"That is a wise choice," Gaius nodded glumly.

"Am I right to do so?" I pressed.

"Oh yes, my dear," Gaius patted my hand and stood up, collecting our bowls.

The door at the back of the room burst open, and there was Merlin. Hair standing on end, his eyes were wide with panic.

"I slept in!" he yelped, blundering down three steps into the main chamber. "Arthur will _kill _me!"

"Arthur stopped by long before you were meant to awaken," Gaius said quickly, "He told me to not wake you."

"WHAT?" Merlin screeched. "He must be possessed by a goblin. Or—something."

"Whatever it is you two discussed yesterday," Gaius informed sternly, "It seemed to affect him deeply. He wanted you to get plenty of sleep, and help me with Elaine."

Merlin's eyes registered Arthur's kindness, and gave a little half-smile. "Is that so?"

"It is."

Merlin shook his head, and laughed. "That is astonishing."

"Well, pick your jaw off the floor long enough to eat your breakfast," Gaius gestured to the table, where a third bowl sat. He took a cloth bag and put it over his shoulder. "I must make my rounds. Do stay with Elaine."

"I don't mean to be any trouble," I said weakly, feeling very troublesome indeed.

"You're a patient," Gaius said firmly, "There is no shame in that. You need to rest and recover from a very cruel and draining curse. And that is no easy task."

I nodded numbly. Merlin waved cheerfully to Gaius as he made his exit, then plopped down at the table and began to eat like a starved creature—probably not unlike how I was eating moments ago.

I settled into my pillows, sighing deeply. The porridge was so _filling, _I didn't know how else to describe it. For the first time in a long time, my body felt like it wasn't an empty, skeletal shell.

"How are you?" Merlin asked, his mouth a little full.

I turned over, pulling the blanket up to my shoulders. I smiled at him. "I am grateful to be alive."

"You're the cheerful type, I can tell," Merlin said. "Always looking at the best in a situation."

I thought about it. "Yes, I suppose I am."

"You don't have to keep up any pretenses if you don't want to," Merlin was losing interest in his breakfast, beginning to stir it around without purpose. "It's okay if you need to take a day off from being chipper."

"I'm hardly chipper," I said tiredly. "Until today I was willing to die for a moment of freedom. That's hardly the sane decision of a 'chipper' person."

"To have lasted as long as you did, in a tower," Merlin argued, "There is something stronger than suicide in you. _That's _the ability to look at the bright side, and to keep going, no matter what."

"You make it sound like I did it on purpose," I teased gently.

"Sometimes our best personality traits are the ones we employ unknowingly," Merlin quipped, renewing his appetite.

My eyes began to drift shut. I fought sleep, having suddenly lost the wish to lose my grief in my sleeping.

Now, I was dreading nightmares.

/ / /

When I awoke, Merlin was still sitting at the table. He was reading a huge, ancient looking book, covered in runes and bound in detiorating fabric.

"What's that?" I asked.

Merlin slammed it shut. "Oh, nothing. Just one of Gaius's old books."

"It resembles a spell book," I said.

Merlin blanched. "Nope."

"Ah."

He slipped the book into his knapsack. "You're awake. Hungry?"

"How long have I been asleep?"

"A few hours. I have to go help Arthur prepare for a feast soon. I'd like to help you get something to eat beforehand, if you're hungry…"

"Famished, and I think I mean that literally," I sat up with a yawn.

"I've never seen someone sleep quite so much as you," Merlin handed me a thick slice of bread, buttered and salted with…

"What's this thing?"

"It's a tomato."

"Oh, right," I said hazily. "Mother grew tomatoes in the garden. Before we lived in the tower."

Merlin grinned. "I'll make you something hot to drink."

"You've been so kind to me," I said, "I cannot possibly repay you…" I paused, and thought about it. "Gaius said I was his patient. If that is true, I must pay for his care. But I do not have any money."

"Believe it or not," Merlin stated, "You're not actually using any of our resources—so what have you to pay us for? Gaius says you're a patient, but that really makes you a guest. I wouldn't worry about it if I were you."

"Alright," I said uncertainly.

There was a polite knock on the door. There was a mischievous glint in Merlin's eyes, as he glanced at me and mused, "Hm, I wonder who that could be?"

I looked back at him, perplexed. "Am… I supposed to guess?"

"Come in!" Merlin called.

The door opened, and there was Sir Lancelot, with his searching dark eyes and a careful smile. He did not wear armor as I'd seen him in before, but a simple brown shirt and pants, looking smaller and… normal.

"Oh," I whispered involuntarily. "Hello…" My breath hitched in my throat.

"Good afternoon, my lady," he said sweetly. He shut the door behind him, and nodded at Merlin. "Arthur is starting to worry."

"About what?" Merlin asked, exasperated.

"About his livery, of course," Sir Lancelot said, with some understanding. "This feast requires him to wear the proper uniform. With his father an invalid—does he wear the tunic of his father's? Or use his own, usual finer clothing? He doesn't want to appear like he is trying to take over his father's throne, but decorum must be observed."

"For once, that is actually a legitimate worry," chuckled Merlin. "I'll go advise him, I guess."

"I've already delivered my apologies for being unable to attend," Sir Lancelot said.

"Why are you not going?" I blurted, hoping to keep to myself, but too curious to do so. "This feast sounds very amusing."

"Someone needs to look after you, and Gaius is with the King tonight," Sir Lancelot explained. "It seems he's taken another bad turn."

Merlin looked suddenly serious. "And Arthur?"

Sir Lancelot shrugged. "He's trying to distract himself with how to properly dress. But I sense he's barely holding it together."

"I'll leave now then," Merlin straightened his neck scarf and made his exit, giving me a kind nod as he shut the door behind him.

I looked shyly at Sir Lancelot, and he looked back at me.

"So, m'lady," he said, sitting down on a bench. "Have you gotten plenty of sleep?"

"Too much of it, I fear," I said, hoping and praying he could carry on a conversation with me. I felt completely tongue-tied around him. It was a cruel fate to find a voice in my heart whispering _destiny _and then being unable to communicate with him like an adult.

"Have you got cabin fever yet?" he asked.

I chuckled. "After ten plus years in a tower, I'm afraid I'm used to this."

"I want to… officially... express my condolences for the loss of your mother," Sir Lancelot said gently.

"And mine, for the Regent's father," I blurted, without hardly thinking about it. "I've been raised to be no friend of Uther's, but I know how difficult this must be for the prince. If you ever have a chance…"

"I'll pass it along," Sir Lancelot offered. "Your sympathy would surely give some comfort to him."

"He is, after all, partially responsible for saving my life," I said, "I feel that I owe a great many people." I shifted in the bed, feeling restless. "I don't know how long I shall be stuck here, it may be some time before I can properly thank all the knights that were involved in collecting the boat…"

"I wouldn't worry about it yet," Sir Lancelot urged. "Let's worry about you first."

"Or, let us not," I said, something deep within me evoking that same voice I might use when singing bitter songs of resentment, addressed to my mother. The ones sung while sitting at the loom and weaving by night and day, a magic web of colors gay, always hearing the whisper that _A curse is on me, a curse is on me if I stay, to look down on Camelot… _

"Good idea," Sir Lancelot said carelessly.

"What?" I asked.

"Let's not worry about you," he shrugged.

"Alright," I replied, not sure where he was going with this.

"Gaius commands bed rest, of course," Sir Lancelot said with a sigh. "And we're supposed to obey the physician's orders."

I sighed. "He's knows what's best, I suppose. I know nothing about recovering from curses."

"I can think of something else that's far more amusing than bed rest, though," Sir Lancelot glanced around the room, avoiding my gaze. "Like… you know, fulfilling your dream of seeing Camelot. And not just any old view from a road. But a better one."

I sat up. "What exactly are you suggesting, Sir Lancelot?"

"Hmm," he hummed, crossing his arms over his chest and smiling at me. "You were rebellious enough to break out of a cursed tower—how do you feel about breaking out of this room?"

I paused, fighting a smile. "Sounds irresponsible," I chuckled, and then frowned. "I do hate to be gloomy, but I don't feel very energetic."

"I'll help you," Sir Lancelot exclaimed. He stood up, picked up a cloak hanging near the door, and handed it to me. "Put this on. It's not too cold out, but if we're going to be irresponsible, we should include some precautions."

\\\

With one strong arm wrapped around me, Sir Lancelot led me out of the physician's chambers and up a winding staircase. That staircase led to an open hall, that looked out onto the courtyard like a balcony. I gasped and looked down at the spectacular sights, of torches and guards and guests arriving for the feast.

"What is being celebrated tonight?" I asked, feeling extremely conscious of Sir Lancelot's supporting arm around my waist. His touch felt like it crackled with its own energy. Like magic in a song, or a tapestry I'd woven full of static and images of storms.

Sir Lancelot smiled down at me. "It is a feast of good-will. A new tradition. The Regent is attempting to bridge the gaps between feuding classes. Uther has done a lot of… social damage. Prince Arthur has invited his greatest tradesmen, envoys from opposing kingdoms, merchants, and small-town representatives."

"The Regent sounds very wise," I commented, relaxing in his hold, just a little. Albeit guiltily… _Is it fair for me to forget Nimueh right now? I want to feel happy._

Sir Lancelot nodded and we walked on, continuing through the hall, and up another winding stair case. This was very short and led us to a smaller upper hall, enclosed, with great statues and tapestries and heavy wooden doors lining the walls.

"Knight's quarters," Sir Lancelot explained. "If we're quiet we can make it through without being horribly teased by my friends. I did not tell them why I was not going to polish my armor and get ready for the feast like the rest of them."

I snickered, unable to help myself. I recalled Gwaine—the one with the messy mane, and his responses—_I'm not cheerful! Usually I'm inebriated! _I read enough to know that he was a lighthearted drunkard.

We passed through uninterrupted, and came to another door that led to another winding staircase. Sir Lancelot paused at the foot of it, and asked sheepishly, "M'lady, this staircase is… ah… the longest in the castle. May I have permission to carry you?"

"Yes?" I said, sincerely doubting we'd make it halfway before we'd stop of exhaustion.

"Put your arms around my neck, then," Sir Lancelot advised. I did so, and he lifted me as easily as a feather.

"I feel so small," I said, embarrassed.

"You are," replied Sir Lancelot cheerfully. Carefully, he began up the stairs.

"Are we going to the top?" I asked. "The very, very top?"

"The topmost lookout of the castle," he smiled. "Gaius would have my head if we knew what we were up to."

"I'm not sorry," I said stoutly.

"Neither am I," he laughed in return.

"It won't get you in any real trouble, would it, Sir Lancelot?" I asked.

"Naw," Lancelot shook his head. We were around another curve, going up and up. There was no railing, and I felt some form of vertigo. But he was steady. "And please don't call me Sir Lancelot. It sounds too posh."

"Or its proper," I argued. "Maybe you shouldn't call me m'lady. I am no lady."

"Oh, but you are," Lancelot disagreed. "Perhaps not royalty, or…"

"Nimueh took me in as an infant," I confessed, "She was the only mother I knew. But she did tell me a little about my parents—they were poor, and starving. They gave me up to save me from the same."

"Then your heritage is very noble," Lancelot said calmly. "Of the best kind."

/ / /

Lancelot breath rasped a bit when we reached the top, and he set me down slowly on the landing, taking care that I was all right to stand on my own.

"Ready?" he asked, hand paused over the latch of the wooden door.

"Oh very," I declared.

He pushed open the door, and the late waning light of the afternoon settled all around us. We were in the topmost rooftop of Camelot, edged by a waist-height wall that budded with gargoyles and angels. We looked out over the pinnacles of the turrets and tiled roof far below, and many levels down, the miniature courtyard and the specks of people. Beyond the edge of the castle's walls, there was a bridge, an arch, and a road that led into shabbier, lower towns. Finally, a road disappeared into the woods, and over those woods, the late sun shone with all its evening generosity.

Glimmering near the distance, I spotted the highway beside the river, and in that river, beyond the scrub of trees…

"What do you think?" Lancelot asked.

"I'm completely amazed," I said slowly. "I've been dreaming of this for so many years. No, correction. I dreamed of just looking out of my window. I never, ever thought that I'd be _in _Camelot, looking down to Camelot itself, and looking at my tower from without."

"Your tower?" Lancelot looked in the distance. "I see nothing."

"It's the spell, it is still shielded," I said, taking his hand boldly. "Point."

Lancelot pointed, and I guided his hand as if he were drawing in the air.

"See the edge of those trees?" I followed their outline. "And the brief glimpse of the road, there? Directly above that tiny shine of the river. Up, up, now—where your finger is pointing right now. That is where the tower is."

"It seems it remains invisible to me," Lancelot said, disappointedly. He looked down at my hand touching his, and seemed to freeze.

"Wait," I said, "Keep looking. If you know where to look, it is visible. It's not a perfectly invisible spell."

Lancelot and I lowered our hands. I meant to pull away, but he clasped it, and did not let go. Then he gasped. "Oh!" he said, startled. "And suddenly, there it is. Clear, and gray-stoned as anything. It's so…"

"Obvious?" I laughed.

"Yes!" Lancelot stared at it in awe. "Four gray walls, and four tiny turrets. Plain as day." Then he looked at me. "Here, come sit down," he pointed to a small stone slab, jutting out of an triangular piece of tiled roof, in the middle of the tiny yard set within the eaves.

We sat together.

"This is so… indescribable," I said, "I honestly don't understand why you're being so kind to me."

"Don't you?" Lancelot replied.

"No."

Lancelot turned towards me, and actually seemed to blush, furiously. "From the first moment I heard you singing, I felt unbelievably—confused."

"Confused?" I said in horror. "I wonder if—my singing…"

"Your singing wasn't any kind of spell, if that's what you're worried about," Lancelot assured. "I often keep things to myself. This is strange for me."

"As it is for me," I added, "I am afraid I'm out of practice when it comes to contact with other people."

"From the first moment I saw you," Lancelot said, "I felt like I knew you somehow."

"That we'd met before?"

"No, not really. Knew you—or, was supposed to know you."

"I felt the same way."

"Really?"

"From the moment we met eyes, it all sounds so silly now, but I felt like I was supposed to find you. Talk to you."

"So this other-worldly connection isn't just one sided," Lancelot sighed with relief. "I thought I was going mad."

"I thought you'd think I was mad."

"So there is something here," Lancelot gestured between us. "It's beyond our explanation. It's beyond this ridiculous curse, or the longing for comfort after the loss of your mother or the trauma of escaping death. It is far beyond that."

"I agree with all of that," I said, "But due to those circumstances, shall we take our time in finding out what that means, exactly?"

"Yes, yes, of course," Lancelot declared. "I am just so bloody relieved that you felt it too."

"Like someone whispering _destiny,_" I admitted. "It was like a voice."

"Yes!" agreed Lancelot, wholeheartedly. He took up my hand in his, and held it. "Just acknowledging that is… a great weight off my shoulders. I was up all night, thinking about it… thinking about how improper the timing was."

"Up all night… at my bedside, so Gaius said," I replied, slyly.

"I couldn't leave you."

"I didn't want you to."

"Good."

We fell silent, simply holding hands, watching the sun dip into the horizon. Broad shadows began to descend in the courtyard below, and in the lower towns. Afternoon was failing, the true sunset had begun.

"And we have plenty of time to…" I trailed off, feeling awkward. "I mean, I cannot imagine leaving Camelot now… now that I'm not dying. And not looking for Nimueh."

"One day at a time," Lancelot promised. "We don't even know what any of this means. We'll get it sorted. Destiny is a funny thing, that way."

"This is the first time I've contemplated a destiny that wouldn't end in the immediate future," I smiled. "It's comforting."

"I'm glad to hear you feel comforted."

"I want you to understand something," I said seriously, "I do not need to be treated too… softly. You must not walk on a conversational precipice with me. What happened to my mother was tragic, I always thought I'd find her, or she'd find me. But I also have not seen her for more than ten years. I am used to her absence. Her death was a shock—but it was only five years ago? That means she had plenty of time to return to me, and release the curse. But she did not. That says more for her honor than I ever could."

"But it was a shock."

"It was. But not a lasting one. I've given myself over to my grief for a night, and a day. And that is all she deserves."

"Is that harder for you?"

"It is not. Somewhere between the tower and the boat, I forgave her. I do not feel bitter. Only—resolved. She has ruined many years of my life with a curse, and after her death, she shall not have any more of my years. It is harsh, yes. I loved her—in a twisted sort of way. Love, and respect, fear, and hope for rescue all merged into one. And now it is gone. I am unburdened by it."

Lancelot nodded silently, absently holding my hand a bit tighter.

"I am moving on," I ended, breathing a sigh of blessed release. "I might be Gaius's patient, but I do not want to be a victim."

"You're very brave," Lancelot said, proudly. "A moment ago, I thought there was going to be a long, delicate future in store for you. Now I see you're just as strong as you are beautiful."

"I'm beautiful?" I snapped, loudly.

Lancelot blinked. "Was that too forward?"

"I don't know what I look like!" I exclaimed. "I've never seen myself before. My magic mirror showed me images of the outside world, not of me."

Lancelot let a mischievous grin creep over his face. "Would you like to see what you look like?"

"Yes!" I squeaked. "Yes please."

Lancelot helped me to my feet and we returned to the door.

"I can walk," I said stubbornly. I looked down at our hands, still clasped. "But a little help would not be unwelcome," I added, feeling warmth in my face.

Lancelot grinned boyishly. We proceeded down the stairs, his large, tanned hand gripping my small, pale one, and the torchlight below beckoned us to sounds of laughter and feasting in the Great Hall.

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><p><strong>Sorry it's been so long for an update. I had writers block for this story! But it's back now! Review please and thank-you. =)<strong>


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